A Living Flame
by likeiloveyouforpussies
Summary: What if, during their time together, they found the chance to swim together?


**Héloïse**

She had never been lulled to sleep by love before. The closest thing to this sensation was perhaps when she was very little and sick and someone—she couldn't be sure if it was her mother or a nursemaid—cooed and cradled her. However, this kind of misty light-headedness was yielded by contentment, not feverish weakness. She wriggled her shoulders to get inside the burrow beneath the sheet and nuzzled up to the warm body beside her. Marianne surrounded her with her arm and pressed her lips against her forehead, keeping them there.

Now she knew how it felt. It turned you into a climber of a hill of pleasure, like Sisyphus pushing his boulder, but it wasn't torture and you weren't alone; you actually welcomed doing it again and again. It made you much more receptive and even hungrier for the world, while wishing things could stay exactly the way they were forever. A peculiar contradiction. And to her, Marianne embodied both of those desires quite literally: a window to everything she hadn't had access to and a place, almost, a place she didn't want to leave. But nobody had ever bothered to ask her what she wanted. To her, Marianne meant freedom, all she would know of freedom.

Sometimes, however, there simply was no time to do what one wanted to do. Sometimes you could only picture it or, if you were somewhat lucky, share it with someone and imagine it together. She remembered Marianne had told her about how the wooden box containing her canvases had toppled off the rowboat that had brought her to the island, and that she'd jumped into the water to retrieve it, while none of the men had moved a muscle. Luckily, the canvases hadn't been ruined, and the paints and charcoals had remained on the boat. Héloïse had quietly found the anecdote exhilarating, for she had made the same trip not that long ago. As she was returning to a place she hardly remembered, that was when she had first fantasized about bathing.

"I want to swim with you," she muttered drowsily.

"What?" Marianne scooted down a little to level their faces. "You want to swim with me, you say?"

"Yes." Héloïse, whose hands had been bunched up against her breast, shifted to stroke Marianne's side, down to her waist. The skin there was slightly cooler than that of the front of her body. Had she kissed her there? She definitely didn't intend to leave any part of Marianne untasted.

"I don't think that will be possible."

Héloïse simply shrugged. She only wanted to say it, before completely surrendering to sleep and possibly forgetting about it.

"Floating, on the other hand…"

Opening her eyes not much more than a squint, Héloïse confirmed that Marianne was smiling teasingly. She giggled and did what she had wished to do, which was to nip and kiss the skin of Marianne's waist, close to her hip. Yelping, Marianne tried to counter and launch her own sort of attack, and they grappled beneath the covers in a struggle that wasn't a struggle because no one could lose here; it was impossible.

As they tried to hold each other down, their legs entangled and their giggles blended when their mouths came together. Marianne pulled the sheet away, which had become knotted between them, and their bodies connected suddenly, taking Héloïse by surprise. She gasped and pressed her hand to Marianne's lower back to keep her there, and cupped her face with her other hand. Marianne turned her head to kiss the palm of her hand and then locked eyes with her once more.

She became entranced by the undulating motions of their hips, not always able to kiss Marianne's agape lips when they brushed her own, but wanting to swallow every exhalation. It was a desperation that increased gradually, as they climbed that hill as slowly as they could. There was something about making it slow that had time-arresting or time-elongating properties. Not really, of course, she knew that, but it did feel like they could turn the free-falling sand in their hourglass into slow-dripping mud.

Her fingers tangled into Marianne's dark hair, and her mouth avidly looked for hers now that she could feel that they were reaching the cusp. It was Marianne's muffled moans that ended up sending her over the edge, and she clung to her shoulder and hair for the descent, as if that could keep her from shaking uncontrollably. It felt like her whole being was being poured out of her body, only to sluggishly return.

Marianne was kissing her neck and behind her ear, she realized, as her mind emerged from darkness, and Héloïse tilted her head to find her lips. She recalled the reference to Sisyphus they had read in the book by Ovid. After descending to the Underworld, Orpheus had sung a song to persuade Hades and Persephone to let him bring Eurydice back from the dead, and the song was so moving that even Sisyphus had to stop and sit on the rock for a moment. What they had found in each other was so wondrous that they too had to stop sometimes and just lie there, side by side, fingers interlocked, or piled up in whichever position they had ended up in and let it wash over them for a minute.

**Marianne**

She set down the two blankets on the sand and glanced from Héloïse to the rippling sea before them. Twice she had already asked her if she was sure, for they weren't having the best weather, but she refrained from asking again. This was the epitome of a now or never moment, most of what they did together was, and Marianne wouldn't dream of taking anything away from Héloïse. This feeling of urgency that sometimes took a hold of her troubled her. It made her reflect on the fact that she was more anxious than Héloïse, who had the comparatively more misfortunate future, at least on the face of it.

With a determined, little face and her clear eyes on the water, Héloïse started disassembling her dress, and Marianne reminded herself of her words, that they were exactly in the same place. This was true, if one only considered the present. What else was there, though? Everything was now; now was all they had. And so, Marianne proceeded to take apart her own clothes and let them fall at her feet.

Héloïse stepped out from the wrinkly puddle of her skirt, grinned, and peeled off the last layer of clothing. It was only a few days before when Héloïse had stood at that same spot in her chemise, believing that it would be her last chance of bathing. After confessing to being a painter, Marianne had watched Héloïse wade in clumsily and bob on the water, all the while trying to breathe out the built up tension in her chest, but it hadn't worked.

Now, she let out a laugh and shook her head incredulously at the sight of Héloïse's beautiful body in the patency of the outdoor light and all the elements. Her desire was stirred in the blink of an eye, and that almost made her laugh too, because this was a total novelty for her. And people tended to resist letting go of the things that made them feel; especially artists, who did everything in their hand in order to preserve mere particles.

But Héloïse was less about contemplation and more about action. Even when it looked like she had been doing close to nothing—staying very still and posing—she had already informed Marianne of the fact that she had been very actively observing her as well. Forcing herself to snap out of it, she took off her chemise and dropped it on the sand. Not that one layer of cloth made much of a difference to the cutting wind, but there was a quality of defenselessness to standing there naked. And, lacking any sort of defense or barrier somehow made it strangely empowering too.

They walked towards the water together, and the first wave that lapped her toes was like a cold bite. Her feet sunk immediately in the sand, but she unstuck them and kept moving. Although every freezing lash of the looping waves challenged her advance, she pressed on. Up ahead, the horizon was an inviting, glistening line, underscored by a mosaic of multi-colored, tiny ripples, yet the most arresting image was that of Héloïse smiling, smiling so happily, between yelps, with her hands on her belly in a naive attempt to protect herself from the cold.

Marianne offered her hand, and the girl took it at once. "I think this is far enough."

Nodding, Héloïse pulled her closer. "Let's go under."

"Just don't let go of my hand."

She counted to three and they jumped in unison, facing each other. Drawing in a big mouthful of air, they sunk below the surface. The cold was almost unbearable, a full-bodied slap, but if one bore it for some instants, it started to pass. Marianne opened her eyes, even though she didn't much like to do so underwater, and saw Héloïse suffused with a sepia tint, with strands of hair flowing upwards and her eyes and mouth tightly shut. She looked absolutely endearing.

Bringing a hand to one of Héloïse's slightly puffed out cheeks, Marianne stroke her thumb softly over an eyelid as a way to communicate that she could open her eyes. When she did, and they looked at each other through the turbid water, they both smiled, expelling two strings of little bubbles.

Héloïse approached her, surrounded her shoulders with one arm, and pressed her lips to hers. This completely undermined her footing, causing them to roll to the side and surge back to the surface, sputtering and giggling, clinging to each other as they were. Marianne combed back the hair adhered to her forehead, and then did the same for Héloïse, for it was dripping into her eyes.

Satisfied but trembling, they hobbled back to the shore in the most gelid walk Marianne was able to recall. Once on dry ground, she raced to the blankets she had brought, grabbed one, and unfolded it on her way back to Héloïse. Thankfully, it was huge. With shivering hands, she enveloped the two of them with it, head and all.

"I really hope we don't catch our deaths," Marianne said, breathily, and they dropped to their knees, huddled together.

"I still don't know if I can swim."

She could float and she could sink. In order to swim, maybe somebody had to teach you, maybe somebody had to guide you, or maybe the bather just needed to do whatever they could to come out again with their own two feet, and that was enough. One thing she knew for sure was that Héloïse would always resurface no matter what, she was too strong not to, and that gave her some degree of peace.

This, like everything else, would soon become a memory, she thought, shielding her face in Héloïse's neck. This urge of hers to preserve, though, wasn't it also an attempt to possess? She wasn't sure, but she pushed the tricky thought away, in favor of now, of their now, and moved to kiss Héloïse's salty-flavored lips. They were freezing at first, but quickly became warmer. Could a memory even be frozen, when it was so much like a living flame?


End file.
